


Les Mis Fic Requests

by LandlessBud



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping AU, Canon Era, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, just a collection of my requests!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandlessBud/pseuds/LandlessBud
Summary: Just a compilation of Les Mis fic requests from tumblr.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Kudos: 8





	1. the flames of revolution (cannot burn without fuel)

“Come to bed.”

Startled, Enjolras almost fell out of his chair. “Grantaire,” he replied indignantly, “I nearly spilled my ink.”

Enjolras could sense the smirk slowly spreading across Grantaire’s face. “How unfortunate,” he said, yawning and stretching like a cat, then patting the spot beside him. “Have you not finished glaring at your paper yet?”

Enjolras did not pout.

“I can hear you pouting,” Grantaire admonished. “Come, sleep—for you will be much more coherent in the morning.”

“But my candle—” Enjolras was willing to put up a fight.

“Can be blown out and relit in the morning,” Grantaire interrupted. “Come, I know you’re cold, and I am quite warm here.”

Enjolras glanced at the papers strewn across his desk, frowning.

“Apollo—”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras hissed, though there was little true anger in his voice. “I am in the middle of a sentence.”

“Then finish it, if you’re able, and come to bed. You need to sleep, love. The flames of revolution cannot burn without fuel.”

Enjolras sighed, returning to his papers. _For the sovereign—_

He could not recall the end of the sentence. Frustrated, he relented, his shoulders slumping.

“Ah!” Grantaire exclaimed. “The divine Apollo descends from his chariot to the embrace of his mortal lover.”

Enjolras laughed, blowing out his candle and crawling under the blankets beside Grantaire. “You flatter me.”

Grantaire wrapped his arms around him. “I love you,” he quietly corrected. “I do not wish to see you fall before your time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by @drunkenpylades on tumblr!


	2. in the state of nature

The camping trip had been Courfeyrac’s idea.

“Come on, E,” he’d prodded during their last meeting. “We all need a break, anyway.”

Despite the group’s average outdoorsiness level being practically nonexistent, more and more members pushed the idea until Enjolras finally relented. (He wouldn’t tell anyone that it was Grantaire’s final plea that did it for him, but he suspected that at least Combeferre had noticed that.)

So there he was, a week later, paging through the  _ Discourse on Inequality _ for the millionth time, but this time in a hammock. He’d already managed to set up his tent—though Enjolras was not a particularly outdoorsy person himself, he prided himself in his capability to follow construction instructions. IKEA was no match for him.

He could hear Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta squabbling over their tent (“ _ Please _ don’t poke another hole in it, Bossuet, we only have so much duct tape,” Joly cautioned from his camping chair) as Combeferre and Courfeyrac talked their way through theirs. (“Courf, I think that pole goes into the opposite corner, not the closer one.”) They’d offered to share with Enjolras, but he’d respectfully declined—as much as he loved his friends, third-wheeling while hopelessly pining for someone else wasn’t particularly productive. Having his own tent was also useful for rereading his favorite “boring bricks” (quote courtesy of Gavroche, who’d tried to steal one from him once) of political philosophy by flashlight so he could sleep in and escape his friends’ potentially catastrophic hiking trips.

He thought the  _ Discourse _ was a particularly apt choice: Enjolras found an entertaining irony in reading about Rousseau’s ideal return to nature while in the actual woods. Just as he was getting to the good part about pity and passion, his hammock began to tip and he lost his place in his book.

Enjolras would not admit to the pitch of the scream that may or may not have escaped his throat.

“Whoa, there,” Grantaire said, grinning mischievously and clutching the edge of the hammock. “Mind if I join you?”

Enjolras’s brain momentarily short-circuited. He was sure his lips were making shapes, but no sound came out.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

Enjolras finally managed to splutter out actual words. “Yeah, go ahead. Just don’t make me fall out.” He smiled in a way that he hoped came off as genuine.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Grantaire replied, more sincere than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Now, uh, can you scoot over a bit?”

Enjolras nodded, hopefully not too fervently, and rolled towards the far side of the hammock.

Grantaire awkwardly half-rolled, half-fell into the space beside Enjolras. After several attempts to untangle himself, Grantaire seemed to have given up.

His warmth pressed into Enjolras’s side was incredibly distracting. The fact that Grantaire was significantly shorter than him and seemed to have decided to rest his head on Enjolras’s chest certainly wasn’t helping.

“I was reading,” Enjolras halfheartedly protested.

“Unfortunate,” Grantaire grumbled into his chest.

Enjolras, still tense, was sure Grantaire could feel how quickly his heart was beating. He needed to come up with a distraction. Mentally grasping at straws, he let the first thing he could think of out of his mouth.

“You know, Rousseau idealized a total return to nature.”

Enjolras could feel the smirk on Grantaire’s face through his t-shirt. “That’s the  _ Discourse on Inequality _ , right? You know he says it’s impossible in the  _ Social Contract _ . And in the  _ Discourse _ , too.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I know that. Just trying to make a little conversation.”

“What, am I not enough for you?”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if Grantaire was flirting, making fun of his own insecurities, or some strange combination of both. “No! I just. I like talking with you.”

Grantaire looked up into his eyes. “Sure.” He paused. “What do you think about Locke?”

Caught off guard, Enjolras blinked. “Beyond his absolute fucking clownery? Like the way he implicitly creates a class system that’s still functionally in operation in the US today?”

Grantaire hummed, probably to signal that he hadn’t fallen asleep, not that Enjolras would mind if he had.

“I can’t fucking stand it. At least Rousseau acknowledges that the ideal society needs to be classless to function, even if some of his takes aren’t great. Like, an ideal  _ aristocracy _ ? Really? You couldn’t—”

Enjolras had never been shut up with a kiss before. Once he’d overcome his shock, (Grantaire really  _ was _ interested? What?) he enthusiastically reciprocated.

When they finally broke for air, Grantaire started laughing.

Enjolras recoiled, accidentally tipping the hammock over and making them both fall out. Grantaire landed beside him, still cackling wildly.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, hurt.

Grantaire suddenly stopped laughing, took Enjolras’s open hand, and looked him directly in the eye. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by @querxes on tumblr!


End file.
